


There is Honor to be Found

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip near the border of Spain had the musketeers taken prisoner with d'Artagnan being singled out.  Repercussions follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting here, and usually I do not write anything of a sensitive nature. This is inspired by TE Laurence, Laurence of Arabia and an incident that happened to him. This deals more with the aftermath with d'Artagnan.

They had been captured on the border. There to bring back news concerning reports that there had been skirmishes on the Spanish border. They had in an instant found themselves surrounded, boxed in with no chance of escape.

They gave up their weapons and were escorted to a cave and tented area. They were blindfolded, tied up and taken to the cave where their feet were also tied and told they would be watched.

When the soldiers came to take d'Artagnan he put up a fight, but was quickly subdued with four men surrounding him. The others yelled, muffled through their gags, but it did not help.

He was dragged to their leader who was in their tented camp. A man as tall as Porthos, but thinner with wiry muscles. He had a scar that ran from temple to chin and a short haircut that did not hide it.

"Spies from France," the leader said.

"Musketeers." D'Artagnan tried to wrangle out of the hands of the two men holding him. "You are on French land."

"No." The man turned back to the map laid out on the table. He gestured to his men who had a firm hold on the young musketeer. "Strip him."

*******

Athos became accustomed to the cave, to the breathing of his fellow musketeers, even able to make out where Aramis and Porthos were located. He was keeping time, it had gotten cooler which meant night had fallen and there was more of nature's sounds so the sun was in midst of rising.

He was planning an escape as soon as he was given a chance. Aramis was praying for their safety and Porthos was thinking about revenge. The thought though that was pressing on them was d'Artagnan. They did not know if he was alive.

Athos heard the footsteps, many men coming in, and he felt hands lifting him to standing. The others were getting the same treatment. He was dragged out into the dawned light and his blindfold was removed.

He squinted into the sun, seeing too many men before him, but one that stood out as their leader. The leader turned his head and d'Artagnan was led in on his horse, face bruised, eyes downcast, but alive. Athos gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

"d'Artagnan," Porthos exclaimed behind him through the gag.

The leader was having none of the attention off of him. He lifted his hands into the air. "This is Spain. Tell your king."

Their horses were brought in, and the bindings on their feet were untied so they could mount, but their hands were left tied. Athos brought his hands up and pulled down the gag that had covered his mouth. They were all mounted, and were going to be allowed to go free to deliver the message.

"And who will we say is sending his regards to the King?"

"Duke of Albufera," the leader replied as one of his soldiers hit Athos's mount sending it off in a gallop. The others received the same treatment.

They rode until when Athos looked behind he could no longer see the cave or the tents. He then put pressure on the flanks of his horse to slow and finally stop. The others came up along him.

Porthos dismounted, slicing the binding on his hands. He did the same for Aramis and Athos. D'Artagnan put his hands out, then quickly covered his wrists, clenching his fists, but the shaking was still apparent.

"Let Aramis tend to your wounds," Athos suggested, seeing the paleness and the vivid bruise on the right side of d'Artagnan's face along with the cut above his left brow.

"It's all superficial. I'm fine." He wanted more distance, pleaded with his eyes. "It can wait until we find somewhere to camp for the night."

Athos nodded. He did not have the heart to press the matter.

**********

D'Artagnan drove his horse harder than he intended, until he felt he could breathe again in relative safety. He rode ahead of the three and found a place of solace up ahead in the distance. He went to tell his friends. "There is a pool ahead."

"A good place to camp," Porthos stated. "We can hunt some food."

"I'm going to bathe." He wanted his friends to know they would not find him in the clearing. He needed to get clean first.

Aramis shook his head. "The water will be cold. I do not believe that's a good idea."

He hoped it would numb him. "You will find me there."

He tied up his horse near the water, pulled the saddle off, setting it in a clearing where they could rest, then took himself to the shoreline. He stripped, taking off his smalls without looking at himself, and kneeling to wash them, twisting them to remove the water and then laying them out in the hopes the sun would dry them to dampness.

He walked into the water; it was refreshingly cold and prickly feeling against his skin, breaking him from the numbness he had encompassed around himself. When he was out deep enough, he dove in, the water stinging against the lashes on his back. He broke to the surface with a gulp of emotion and felt the tears welling so he dove again, then returned to the surface once more. His feet could still touch the bottom of the pond so he had not gone out that far. He was tempted to go out, over his head. It would have been a test. He was a strong swimmer, and he wondered if an instinct and will to survive would save him.

This time he didn't dive into the water, but remained there treading as he let the tears fall and panted. He wanted to scream, tried for a moment and found his grief was choking him. He remained in the water; saw that a fire had been started by the shore. He treated it like a beacon to lead him in as the weariness settled in his skin.

His smalls were dry, and he stayed by the fire, shivering until he was less wet. He put on his smalls and pants. He looked at his shirt, contemplating his next steps, but was startled by Aramis calling out to him.

"Is everything dry?"

It was Aramis who had made the fire, and was supposed to check his injuries.

D'Artagnan nodded, not trusting his voice for the moment. He brought his shirt and jacket to his chest.

"You've gotten the blood off your face, and the cuts have stopped bleeding. That's good." Aramis gave a tight grin that did not reach his eyes. He sat down next to d'Artagnan and carefully pried the clothes out of the young musketeer's hands. Aramis placed a grounding hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. The young man wondered if the sharpshooter knew how hard it was for him to stay still.

Aramis palpated the injured areas. "I don't believe the ribs are broken, but they are sore. Yes?"

D'Artagnan shrugged, which brought Aramis's attention to his back.

"They whipped you." Aramis cleared his throat. When he spoke next his voice was husky with emotion. "Some of these need to be stitched. Okay?"

D'Artagnan didn't mean to flinch or pull away when Aramis made the first stitch. He took in a big gulp of air to prepare himself for the next stitch, but it did not happen. Aramis still had his grounding hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"You'll be fine. You're safe," Aramis repeated the litany until they whirled through d'Artagnan's mind. "I will finish quickly." Aramis made the few stitches, then wrapped up d'Artagnan's torso with a bandage. The shirt that he helped d'Artagnan into was warmed by the fire, soothing him, next came the jacket and his pauldron.

He allowed Aramis to bring him to standing, then kicked the fire to put it out. They headed to camp. Porthos and Athos were speaking in hushed tones; two rabbits were spitted over the fire. The conversation ceased when they saw Aramis and d'Artagnan.

d'Artagnan sat near the fire, but put some space between himself and his fellow musketeers.

"He was whipped, ribs are injured, but not broken," Aramis reported the injuries, then sat down near Porthos. "He will be fine with some rest."

"And something to eat. The rabbits are done." Porthos removed the spits from the fire. "Tell me that we will return with legion of men to remove that man from the face of the earth."

D'Artagnan couldn't have that. To be humiliated and have others know. He shook his head. As much as d'Artagnan wanted distance, Athos was not going to allow it and sat next to him. He passed him a flask.

d'Artagnan found his voice. "No." Not only to the legion of men, but to the drink.

"Drink," Athos ordered.

He took a sip of the bitter wine. This wasn't enough to forget, Athos knew better. He was broken and the answer would never be found in spirits, or anywhere he could imagine.

"What happened?"

He did not answer because he did not realize the question was asked of him. He got lost in the answer. What to say to these men that they hadn't already guessed. "He wanted some Musketeer pride, honor."

"Pride, honor, they can't take that from you." Porthos added another stick to the fire. "You can't let them."

D'Artagnan nodded. He wished it was that easy to just accept Porthos's words. Athos pressed the rabbit into his hands.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry." He could not imagine getting food passed the knot in his throat.

"Humor me." Athos took a bite of his food to set an example.

D'Artagnan chewed until whatever flavor was in the rabbit was long gone. He forced a swallow, then another bite. Aramis luckily took pity on him.

"Athos, the lad probably does not have an appetite. He needs to rest."

Thankfully, Athos acknowledged the advice. He patted d'Artagnan's leg. "Do you need anything?"

He needed so many things, but it was not possible to go back in time. To wish his father was alive or the solace of any of his family. "do not report our capture to Treville-"

"d'Artagnan-" Athos cut him off.

"We have information for him. We have who is behind the skirmishes. It's enough. It has to be enough." D'Artagnan did not recognize his own voice because it was full of despair.

Athos softened. "You are injured. Treville needs to know."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "This will heal before we get back." He brought his knees up, wrapped his arms around them. He had nothing left to lose. "Please don't make beg."

"Treville will only receive confirmation that the Duke of Albufera with the support of his country is showing signs of unease." Athos looked towards the others for confirmation.

"Agreed," Aramis stated with Porthos concurring.

"Thank you." D'Artagnan laid down, curling in on himself, closing his eyes knowing he would not fall asleep.


	2. There is Honor to be Found Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued with Aramis and Porthos point of view with conclusion.

They lied to Treville, but they could not lie to themselves or hide their worry in seeing their friend's melancholy. Aramis and Porthos provided entertainment and pushed d'Artagnan to the comforting arms of various women. The young musketeer went through the motions of living at least in the beginning.

d'Artagnan dedicated himself to his training with ferocity of an unquenched anger. They knew he had a strong ethic, but his exercises seemed punishing, though it forced him to eat and lose the wane look.

Aramis out of all them understood it all. It would be only time that would help and the support of his friends, like he had after Savoy. Then he hoped that they would get some of the old d'Artagnan back. He knew they would never get the old d'Artagnan back fully, but what was broken could be mended.

He believed that until Athos pulled him aside.

"Duke of Albufera and an envoy will be arriving to discuss a lasting treaty with the king."

"Dear God."

"Are you going to speak to Treville?"

Athos was already heading up the stairs, and Aramis decided to go with him. They knocked and were granted entrance.

"There is news that a musketeer is needed to bring some letters to Avignon. d'Artagnan should be considered." Athos stated, looking straight ahead.

Treville put his pen down. "He has a mission. This treaty is important, and he will be needed here." The captain frowned. "Is there something else? Is d'Artagnan unwell?"

Aramis shook his head. "No, Sir. We just thought a change of scenery would be good for the boy."

They could not say more without divulging d'Artagnan's confidence. Aramis considered it as he knew Athos did, but they would have to provide protection. He had five years before Savoy revisited him, opening a barely covered scar. It had only been five months for d'Artagnan and the cruelty of the Ducado.

When they came down the stairs, Porthos and d'Artagnan were in the yard waiting for them.

"I told him," Porthos stated, his eyes level waiting for a challenge. Aramis would not give him one on this matter.

d'Artagnan was grim. "I will do my duty."

Athos shook his head at a loss of words. Aramis stepped forward, gripping the younger man's shoulders. "Please, do not remain silent on this matter. We _will_ understand and listen. There is no shame. The burden will be lessened. If not, then in confession."

The Gascon pulled away as if burned. "God, no." He licked his lips. "It is not a matter of trust or confidence. You are my brothers, but to speak of this at all will destroy the sanity you have all helped me to find again." He scuffed the ground with his boot.

They knew what d'Artagnan was hiding from them, a cruelty causing a chasm in the young musketeer's soul.

"We stand with you. You will not be alone." Athos grabbed d'Artagnan's forearm, then pulled him into a stiff hug.

It was moments like this that the depth of Athos's emotions surprised Aramis. The stoic exterior was just that, an exterior.

The day of the beginning of their duty was heavy. The ducado was more menacing, if that was possible and Aramis had to control himself as to the man's proximity to the Queen. They kept d'Artagnan pressed close.

The entourage continued, but one warmly greeted the queen with familiarity in Spanish. She became more animated than Aramis had seen her, her speech rapid in her native tongue. This was her cousin, bringing greeting from her brother and her other siblings. The queen had been missed.

The Ducado then walked by them with a feral smile. They had been recognized.

One look at d'Artagnan, his jaw clenching and eyes alight with fire and turmoil. In a quick move Aramis placed his hat on the younger man's head. "Steady," he hissed. The hat would hide the emotions that were painted on d'Artagnan's face, not enough to cover those in his head and heart.

*******

d'Artagnan did his duties at a great cost. In a week Porthos saw the shadows under his friend's eyes become dominant. He was edgy, sharp, but he persevered.

Porthos did not hide that he wanted to arrange for the duke to have an accident. Athos deterred him. War would not help d'Artagnan. Finally it was over. A treaty signed, more or less land of which Porthos did not care. He hated all the Spanish, except for the queen.

d'Artagnan came down the steps, having visited Treville's office as soon as the captain returned from the last of his duties. "I have asked Treville and been granted some leave to attend to matters that have arisen in Gascony."

The young musketeer was planning on stalking his prey. Gascony was an easily seen through ruse. "Do you need help?" Porthos asked at the ready.

"More hands make quick work," Aramis suggested.

d'Artagnan shook his head. "No, I have to do this myself."

"We are with you," Athos added.

"Not in this. Never in this." It sounded like a vow.

Porthos pulled the younger man into a strong hug. "Pride and honor are still there. You faced a demon and did your sworn duty. How can you say he took it?" He patted d'Artagnan on the back, slow to release him.

"If I don't return-"

This time Aramis grabbed him into a fierce hug.

Athos nodded. "Do what you must, then return or we will come after you."

"Promise on your honor," Porthos stated. He would not accept less. d'Artagnan had to understand what he was still worth.

"I promise."

******

d'Artagnan tracked them as they distanced themselves from Paris, deep into France, waiting for a moment to strike. His opportunity arrived when the duke was in a clearing alone, unattended, about to bathe.

He stepped out from the woods providing him cover. "Pick up your sword."

This fight would be about justice and justice required the other man be armed. The duke crouched down to retrieve his sword, maintaining eye contact. "d'Artagnan. Yes, I know your name."

"Good." It should have been a fair fight, well matched, but d'Artagnan sword was possessed with strength from hatred the young musketeer did not know he had lurking inside of him. It was one cutting blow, slashing down from the edge of the duke's neck down his torso.

The duke dropped his sword with a hiss of surprise; crumpled in a heap, dead.

There was not time to think about what he had done. The queen's cousin revealed himself.

"If you wish you may claim his sword as a prize."

d'Artagnan did not answer, just panted to catch his breath from the exertion of violence. He accepted the repercussions, word would return to the musketeers and his name would be forever marked, but his friends would know. No one would come looking for him.

The younger man wrinkled his nose. "My uncle was a brutish man. His time has passed."

"You knew." Politics. He had done what the Spanish had wanted, but could not. The queen's cousin had seen an opportunity. He started to back away.

"The sword?"

He ignored the Spaniard and went to his horse. He was heading home. As always, the journey home seemed quicker.

d'Artagnan returned midday, expecting his friends to be on duty not waiting on him. They were there at their usual table in the courtyard as if they knew he would be arriving. He did not have a chance to dismount as they met him.

Aramis gripped his leg. "You're back."

Porthos was pulling him out of the saddle. "He promised on his honor didn't he? Of course he's back."

He jumped down from his seat. He could face these men once more.

"d'Artagnan," Athos greeted him, and the tone was missing the pity that had followed him since it all began. "Your business went well, I assume."

"Yes." He was no longer fragile; he was becoming himself once more.

The end


End file.
